


Love Accidentally

by Meloxique



Series: Marvel Literary Universe [1]
Category: Hawkeye (Comics), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Cheating, Deafness/Hard of Hearing, Depression, Friends With Benefits, POV Second Person, Reader-Insert, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-08
Updated: 2018-12-09
Packaged: 2019-08-20 15:02:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,240
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16557980
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Meloxique/pseuds/Meloxique
Summary: There are few things in life Clint Barton gets right.





	1. Slap!

**Author's Note:**

> I’m planning on counting down to Avengers 4 with a Marvel story every month, making that six stories, each four chapters long, assuming the release date remains May 3. Starting us off is our favourite marksman, Clint Barton! (Sorry, Kate.)
> 
> The theme song for this story is ‘Hard to Love’ by Calvin Harris featuring Jessie Reyez.

The story of how you met Clint was not a story you liked to tell in public, though you did look back on it pretty fondly. It was three years ago. You had just gotten out of an intense relationship and were on the hunt for a rebound. Clint had stood out, tired but handsome and close enough to hear you ask the bartender for the weirdest drink on the menu. When your expression soured after taking a sip, he had laughed, moved next to you and offered to swap drinks. After that, it was a standard one night stand.

Until he told you he loved you the morning after.

You were pretty sure he was still drunk but it sent you flying from the bed all the same, putting on whatever clothes you found in preparation for your escape. He had went on to tell you about a dog he had to pick up from the vet, inviting you along, which you did after deciding that you couldn’t pass up an opportunity to see a dog.

Of course, you couldn’t tell Simone’s kids the whole story, so you just said, “We’re friends from work.” They seemed more interested in your camera anyway. Once you felt like you had enough polaroids for the night, you let them play around with it under the careful gaze of their mother while you went to help Clint clean up the barbecue.

“You wanna take some of these home?” Grills asked, holding up a wrapped platter of hot dogs.

“Oh, no.” You smiled. “Thank you though.”

“You have them then.” He shoved the platter into Clint’s arms. Clint just shrugged. With an amused shake of your head, you collected all the disposable cutlery and chucked them into the large garbage bag off to the side of the rooftop.

“Hey,” Clint said, “can you hold these for a sec?” He attempted to pass you some beer bottles and Lucky’s saliva-covered tennis ball. You winced at that but pressed closer to him so none of the items would fall as you both juggled them. “Ready to go?” he murmured. You nodded.

Apologetically, you collected your camera back from the kids, allowing them to keep the polaroids they had taken, and said goodbye to everyone one last time before following Clint downstairs. “I really love that your building does this regularly,” you said, Lucky on your heels.

“Yeah, it’s nice.” He unlocked the door to his apartment and pushed it open with his hip, letting you enter first so you could dump your things on the kitchen counter. Once your arms were free, you crossed them over your chest.

“And thanks for inviting me.”

“Don’t mention it,” he said softly. 

It was just past sunset. The barbecue had gone on for a while, people flitting in and out as it suited them. You had only wanted to return something to Clint—his waffle iron—but he noticed the look on your face when you knocked on his door and surmised, correctly, that your boyfriend had broken up with you. You were powerless to fight back when he insisted you come to the roof.

Clint refilled Lucky’s water bowl, glancing at you.

“I should probably go,” you said.

“You can stay.”

“What would we do?”

He shrugged. “I’ve got _Dog Cops_ on DVR.”

“You and your DVR,” you muttered.

“We could order pizza, just veg out.”

“So, do what you do everyday?”

“Pretty much.”

You looked out the window again, the sky purple. The thought of trekking it back to the station and getting on the A train and then trekking it to your dingy studio apartment drained the life out of you. With a sigh, you sank onto his couch, Lucky plopping onto your lap a moment later. “Count me in.”

Clint smiled, then cleared his throat to hide it and moved to put the hot dogs in the fridge. He plucked a flyer from the magnet on the door and handed it to you.

“It’s cute that we pretend we don’t know what we’re gonna get,” you said, perusing the takeout menu before flicking it back at him. He already had his phone out, no doubt putting together your order online.

You got through an episode of _Dog Cops_ before the food came. The delivery guy raised an eyebrow as Clint answered the door in the middle of debating Sergeant Whiskers’ sex appeal and you snorted as you went to get plates. After that, you managed to convince him to watch a horror movie. It was always fun to see him jump, though he didn’t get particularly scared by the plot.

“Do you have to turn off all the lights?” he complained. “I’m trying to eat here.”

“Atmosphere,” was all you said.

His arm shifted to the back of the couch as you dropped down beside him, Lucky falling asleep under the coffee table. You curled your legs onto the cushion and kept your plate under your chin to catch all the crumbs as you ate. Clint was not as mindful. Lucky woke up at the smell of food and jumped up beside him, getting some scraps of sausage for his efforts.

The movie’s music screamed. Clint’s hand shot to your neck. Smirking, you glanced at him. “Scared?”

He rolled his eyes, leaning forward to deposit his empty plate on the table before settling deeper into the couch cushions, resting his knee on top of yours. “Not scared,” he said. “Surprised.”

You nodded. “Don’t worry, I’ll protect you.”

“My hero,” he drawled.

You nudged him in the ribs and he caught your elbow but didn’t let go, moving your arm into his lap so he could hold your hand. You glanced at him. He kept his eyes on the movie until you shifted so that you were facing him. With a hand on his cheek, you pulled his lips to yours. 

He inhaled deeply, like some weight had finally been lifted off his shoulders, and snaked his arms around your waist, tugging you closer. Lucky retreated to his bed across the room as you pushed Clint down onto his back. The light from the TV cast his face into shadows that brought out his chiselled features and you couldn’t help but kiss your way down his neck, his stubble sharp against your lips.

Clint spread his legs so you could slip between them. A loud thud made you jump up. You checked behind you but it was only your empty plate that had been pushed off the couch to the rug below. Clint brought your face back to his, forbidding you from getting distracted again.

You made out heatedly for the next few minutes. Your hands travelled up his chest, up his jaw, playing with his already scruffy hair while he let his fingers toy with the waistband of your jeans. When the movie ended and the room was plunged into darkness, you gently pulled away.

“I should—”

“Stay,” he whispered, kissing you. He trailed his mouth to your ear and gave it a nip.

You couldn’t even argue. You felt him slightly hard against your pelvis and revelled in the moan he made when you ground down. He pushed your lower back until your crotches were pressed together. You muttered under your breath at the relief.

He retreated to grab a condom and then he was under you again, shoving your jeans down just enough so he could be inside you. You groaned at the stretch. Your nails dug into his shoulders as he feathered kisses behind your ear, rocking back and forth until you were crying out for more. 

“Ride me,” he said in a strained voice.

You braced yourself against his chest and began to thrust harder. He moaned again, folding his hands behind his head as you set the pace. You were chasing your release now. Flames licked low in your belly and you twisted your hips so he would hit deeper inside you, drawing out another grunt from him.

Suddenly, you locked up. With a scream, waves of pleasure crashed over you and Clint took charge, pumping into you faster than ever. 

“Clint,” you whimpered.

“I know.”

He grabbed at your waist and shoved you down as he came, cursing under his breath. You brushed your lips over his forehead. His eyes fluttered closed and he panted as he floated down from his high, still inside you.

When he hoisted you up and took you to bed, you didn’t complain.

You woke up facing him, both of you with your cheeks burrowed into your pillows. He had one arm strewn across your back and, under the covers, your leg was curled up over his thigh. He always looked sad when he slept, a slight crinkle between his brows and his mouth just a shade of a frown. In the quiet, you took the opportunity to trace a finger down the bridge of his nose. His face smoothed over as he stirred. His arm shifted and brought you closer and he let out a deep sigh as he forced his eyes open a smidge.

“Morning,” he muttered.

You touched your thumb to his bottom lip. “I think I love you,” you whispered.

He faltered, but then he was rolling his eyes with realisation and kicking you away while crawling out of bed. “I’m never gonna live that down, am I?” he said. You just grinned and watched him march into the bathroom.

While you waited for your turn to shower, you got up to feed Lucky breakfast. He perked up from his bone-chewing and followed you into the kitchen, but his ears sank when he watched you reach under the sink for the dog food. You looked at him sternly as you poured him a bowl. “Lucky, eat.” He whined but you just continued to stare until he gave up and begrudgingly ate the biscuits.

Clint raised a brow at that as he came in ten minutes later, after you had brewed some coffee. 

“You’re torturing the poor guy,” he said, accepting the cup you handed him.

“You spoil him too much.” You downed your own drink and put the mug in the sink. “Can you make me some oatmeal while I get ready?”

Clint nodded and you disappeared into the bathroom. Clint’s products smelled like pears. You used the spare toothbrush in the medicine cabinet and put on your clothes from last night, enjoying the familiar scent now in your hair.

After breakfast, Clint walked you down to the curb. 

“I can pay for a cab, you know,” he said.

“I’m fine taking the train,” you said, wrapping your arms around him.

“At least let me walk you to the station.”

“Will you stop?” you laughed.

Grumpily, he leaned down to kiss you and you tightened your grip, rewarding him with a soft moan. As you pulled away, a car door slammed behind you. You turned just in time to see a woman slap Clint in the face.

“Jess,” you gasped, stumbling back. 

Clint cupped his cheek but didn’t say anything. Jessica, too, stayed silent but her eyes fumed as they flicked back and forth between the two of you. You noticed Clint’s guilty expression and swallowed the lump in your throat.

“Fuck,” you muttered. “I’m sorry. I’m gonna go.”

Jess didn’t even look at you as you walked away. You stopped yourself from checking to see if Clint did.


	2. Brrng Brrng!

“You know you didn’t have to do this, right?”

Kate’s kitten heels click-clacked over the marble floor as the two of you trailed after the maître d’, winding through tables of old ladies with fancy hats and men wearing bright polos and all manner of the one percent. You avoided eye contact with every single one of them.

“Are you kidding?” she said as she sat down. “I’ve always wanted to come to this place for brunch. I’ve just never had a non-pretentious reason to until now.” She flipped open the menu. “Mimosas?” She was in a ruffled summer dress and a wide-brimmed hat to match, dipping down her sunglasses to glance at you.

“I guess,” you mumbled. You looked down at your phone, at the last text you had sent. 

‘I’m sorry, Jess. I didn’t know.’

That had been a few days ago. You still hadn’t received a reply.

“She came to the apartment yesterday,” Kate said. You weren’t confident she hadn’t read your mind. “Called him a bad person.”

“Well—”

“Don’t finish that sentence.”

“Are you here to talk about Clint or to help me through my breakup?” you snapped.

“I’m just here to day-drink.” She smirked.

A waiter came to take your order. Seeing as Kate was paying, you picked the most expensive thing on the menu. Smiling sweetly, she flipped you the bird and got soup dumplings. You looked out at the view you had of Central Park as the waiter left. “It wasn’t right,” you said, “what she did. But he did wrong, too.”

“I know.”

“Were you there?”

“For half of it, yeah.”

“How was he?”

She leaned back in her chair, fiddling with the salt shaker. It tipped over but you could barely see the crystals on the white tablecloth. “Hurt. I think he’ll be okay though. I don’t know.”

“Did she break up with him?”

“Might have been implied but, you know, she never actually said.”

You nodded and resumed looking at the view until your orders arrived. The food was divine, not that you were surprised. After mimosas, Kate got Bloody Marys. After Bloody Marys, spiked jasmine tea. She would have kept going had you not reminded her that she was driving both of you home. With a swipe of her card, the bill was taken care of and the valet brought around her Bug. 

You could count on one hand the number of times you had been alone with Kate. The first had been a few weeks after you met Clint, when she realised you would be sticking around. She waited until Clint went to the bathroom before kindly informing you that Clint was a married man. When you told her you already knew, she raised an eyebrow and stopped visiting the apartment. She seemed to be Clint’s only friend so you told him that, while you could still hang out, you didn’t want to have sex with him anymore. For that, Kate tolerated you and you were able to build a civil rapport.

“I’m jealous of you sometimes, you know,” you said.

“I know,” Kate said. You shook your head and turned to face the window, New York rushing past. “Hey. I’m kidding. What the heck do you have to be jealous for?”

The two of you only really started talking once Clint and Bobbi filed for a divorce. He had seen it coming but it still hit him hard and, though Bobbi hadn’t yet found out about you back then, you felt guilty when you started sleeping with him again. Guilty enough to vent to Kate, mostly about how annoying it was that Clint was a car crash disguised as a hot guy. She listened out of amusement and sometimes commiserated, but she knew the idea of sleeping with Clint was a terrible one and so she’d never stoop so low.

“What you have with Clint,” you said as she turned onto your street, “it’s never gonna get messed up. It can’t be.” You popped off your seatbelt before the car had even come to a stop. “I think you’re the only person in the world who can say that.”

She frowned. “That’s not true. If you knew—”

“Thanks for the ride, Katherine.”

She didn’t correct you.

The next day, you got a text. You had hoped it would be from Jess but it was just Kate, whom you had saved as Chatty Kathy on your phone for the irony.

‘Hey, you still got that fancy label maker thingy?’

You rolled your eyes. Were you friends now?

‘Label maker,’ you replied. ‘Just label maker. I know you know what it’s called; you’re just making it harder for yourself adding all those syllables.’

‘You got it or not?’

‘Yeah, I got it.’

She didn’t reply so you went back to doing your taxes.

Twenty minutes later, Clint showed up on your doorstep with Starbucks and Krispy Kreme. Lucky was on a leash and had a post-it note stuck to his head with the words ‘forgive me?’ chicken-scratched on it, along with a frown-y face. Oblivious, he just continued to pant with his tongue lolling out, staring up at you adoringly.

“This some kind of cop joke?” you said, crossing your arms.

“Did not cross my mind until now.”

You plucked the note from Lucky’s fur and scrunched it up. “What are you doing here?”

“Katie said you had a fancy label maker thingy,” Clint said, rubbing the back of his neck.

“And all this?”

“Thought it was pretty obvious.”

“What about Jess?”

“She’s not currently speaking to me.”

“Shocker,” you muttered. You returned to your kitchen table and Clint stepped inside, kicking the door shut behind him. Lucky trotted over to peer up at Roy, your violet-coloured fighting fish in a small tank on the bookshelf. Clint joined him after putting breakfast on the table. “How many times I gotta tell you not to tap on the glass?” you snapped, barely watching him out of the corner of your eye. “She doesn’t like it.”

He mumbled a ‘sorry’ and shifted his attention to your cork board of polaroids. They were all laid out in a grid: a blurry one of you and him on the rooftop of his building, trying to shoot nickels at empty beer bottles; a few of Lucky on the couch, at the park, with Roy; one of Kate with a hand up to block her face and your finger in the corner; one taken during a game of strip poker with Natasha, Bobbi and Jessica. The rest were of people he didn’t recognise. Colleagues from your precinct. Milestones from before he knew you.

Finally, he worked up the nerve to join you at the table. He sat down, the coffee and donuts between you. He at least had enough sense not to touch the receipts and paperwork you had splayed out on the surface. You managed to get through some more work, feeling his eyes on your face, on your fingers, before you had to put down your pen with an annoyed sigh.

“I told you I never wanted to be put in this position again.”

“I know,” he said quietly.

“Why didn’t you tell me you and Jess were together?”

“We never made it official.”

“Come on, Clint,” you groaned. “You’re a spy. You should know how to read people. You should know what they mean without them having to say it.” You snagged one of the coffees and took a sip. It was just how you liked it. Clint’s name was scrawled in black marker on the plastic. It was funny because he hated everything Starbucks had to offer except Americanos yet he’d gotten it for you. “How come you’ve never slept with Kate?”

His eyes shot up to yours. “What kind of question is that?”

“She would if you asked. Even if it’s just out of curiosity.”

“I wouldn’t ask,” he said, dragging a hand over his face. “I don’t want to.”

“Why not?”

He struggled to find words. “Why are we even talking about this? She’s, like, nine years old.”

“Just answer the question, Clint.”

The bandaid on his arm was peeling off on one side. You were itching to tear at it.

“Because that screws it up,” he said. 

“Yeah. It does.”

He looked at you. “What are you trying to say?”

“I think you already know, arrow-man.” Exhaling, you gathered all the scraps on your table and shoved them back into their rightful folder. The mood to get your shit together and do taxes had officially died. “Thanks for the donuts.” You ruffled Lucky’s ears as you got up and slipped the folder in next to the bookend on your shelf. 

“Don’t do that,” he snapped.

You glanced at him. “Don’t come around here anymore, Clint. I’m serious.”

“What, for good?” He stood up when you didn’t answer, his chair scraping on the floor. “Please don’t do this,” he murmured.

“What I did … what we’ve been doing for the past three goddamn years, it’s not fair. To either of us or the people around us. You need to go and apologise to your girlfriend,” you murmured back, “and pray to God she really is still your girlfriend.” You brushed a knuckle over his cheek. “See ya around.” You retreated to your bedroom so you wouldn’t have to see him leave, though you still heard Lucky’s confused whine before the door slammed shut.

That night, Jess texted you back.

‘I know.’

If there was any bright side to cutting things off with Clint, it was that Kate became a lot nicer. She introduced you to her other friends and, even though they were kids, you had a good time with them. They gave great advice. They really made you wonder what you were doing with your life.

Today, for Valentine’s Day, she was taking you out for sushi. You had offered to cook something and have dinner at home by candlelight just for the heck of it but, according to her, you needed to get out of the house. The restaurant was, thankfully, not as fancy as usual. Ever since her fallout with her dad, she had been making her own money and spending less of it. It was just conveyor belt sushi. You suspected the place was actually run by a Korean family but you decided to keep that yourself.

Kate jabbed her chopsticks in your face. “So, I gotta ask,” she said around a mouthful of sashimi.

You rolled your eyes, knowing what was coming. “And you were doing so well, too.”

“Why’d you break up with him?”

“We weren’t together.”

“You know what I mean.”

“Did Clint not tell you?”

“Are you kidding? All he does is sleep, drink and watch crappy TV.”

“So he’s fine then.”

She looked at you sternly.

“I don’t know what you want me to say, Kate. He was only with me because he felt sorry for me every time I got dumped by some asshole. I just got tired of being a charity case.”

Kate cast her eyes to the ceiling and muttered a prayer, downing the rest of her sake. “You two are more alike than you think, you know that? It’s incredible.”

“Do we have to keep talking about this?”

“Way more alike,” she said under her breath. She plucked another plate off the train. “Listen, this is the last time you’re gonna see me for a while.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I’m going to LA.”

Your eyebrows shot up. “Like, Los Angeles LA?”

“The one and only.”

“How come?”

She exhaled deeply. “I just need a break. Being here, being with him, it depresses the fuck out of me sometimes.”

You softened, nodding and reaching out to cover her hand with yours. “You do what you gotta do, Katherine.”

Kate dropped you off and the next time you saw her was at an ungodly hour in the morning a few days later as she was driving out of the state. Lucky was in the passenger seat of her car and you kissed them both goodbye, earning an ‘ew’ and a lick on the cheek in return. Life quieted down with her departure. You got the occasional update of at what point in her road trip she was but you otherwise left her alone and you did your best to ignore Clint.

Until he got arrested.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My headcanon is that the reader works at the Brooklyn 99 precinct.


	3. Silence

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I literally forgot Kate took Lucky in the previous chapter so I had to write him out of a scene.

It wasn’t uncommon to have to respond to a bar fight on a Saturday night. Unpleasant, sure, but not uncommon. What did strike you as odd, though, was how familiar one of the men seemed as you and your partner arrived to break up the scene. Once the crowd saw your uniforms, calmed down and dissipated, you were granted a clearer look at the perpetrators and felt your blood begin to boil.

Clint had a lot more facial hair than the last time you saw him. He was hunched over, breathing harshly, a puddle of blood at his feet. Glass was all over the floor and it crunched as you approached, your partner beginning to handcuff the other guy in the tracksuit.

“What the hell is wrong with you, Clint?” you muttered. He tried to look up but then his eyes rolled to the back of his head and he fainted. You finally saw the deep gash across the side of his head, his ear mangled. You cursed as you crouched down. There was so much blood. “I need to get this one to the hospital.” 

“I’ll call a bus,” your partner said.

The paramedics arrived and loaded Clint into the ambulance. Being under arrest, he still needed a police escort, so you rode with them to the hospital while your partner took the squad car and drove the other guy to the precinct. You wrung your hands together as you watched the paramedic in the back with you try to mop up as much of Clint’s blood as possible so she could assess the damage that had been done. She shone a flashlight at his ear and flinched.

“What?” you said before you could stop yourself. 

She shook her head. “Whoever did this was out for blood. They stuck a piece of glass in his ear so deep …” she trailed off, frowning.

“Oh, God,” you whispered. “He’ll live though, right?”

“Most likely. Don’t worry.”

At the hospital, the nurses took him to otolaryngology and you were made to wait outside with no other information. For a Saturday night, the hospital was buzzing. Most of the patients weren’t serious. You recognised the signs of another bar fight and someone had stubbed their thumb with a hammer, crushing their fingernail. They went in and out but, otherwise, the waiting room you sat in was small and quiet. Your partner called to appraise you of the situation back at the precinct. A nurse arrived as you were explaining your side and you hung up. She gave you a slight smile.

“The surgery’s gonna take a while, if you’d like to get back to the precinct,” she said.

You stood up. “Surgery?”

“I understand he’s under arrest but, surely, you don’t plan on monitoring him the whole night. We can contact you when he’s ready to be released.”

“What’s gonna happen to him?”

“I’m sorry. I can’t release that information just yet.”

“I’d like to stay.” You dug out your driver’s licence. “I’m his emergency contact.”

“Oh.” With surprise, she took your licence and went to verify your details. When she returned, satisfied, she smiled sympathetically. “It’ll be a few more hours. There’s a cafeteria downstairs if you need a pick-me-up.”

You nodded. “Thanks.”

You were lucky that it was an otherwise routine night at the precinct and you were allowed to stay to wait for Clint. You could only imagine the amount of paperwork that would be waiting for you on your next shift.

You managed to pass out from sheer exhaustion and, when you woke up, two hours had gone by and you had to force yourself to concentrate on a magazine on the table to jump-start your brain. The first one you picked up had the headline ‘Thor Vacations Down Under,’ along with something about Thor’s ‘down under’ being visible through his wetsuit. You cleared your throat and put it down just as a doctor entered the room. You shot to your feet.

“He’s okay,” she said, holding out her hands. “He’s asleep and we’re gonna keep him for another day to let the wound settle, but you can go see him. I understand you’re his emergency contact?”

“That’s right,” you said. She began to lead you down the corridor.

“Does he have any other family that we need to get in touch with?”

“No.”

“Then you and I need to have a chat later.”

You looked at her but she ushered you into Clint’s room and closed the door before you could say anything. Besides the machines humming softly, no other noise was made. You approached Clint’s bedside and stared down at him, his head covered in bandages. He looked miserable.

“God damn it, Clint,” you whispered. “Why are you so stupid?” You brushed a thumb over his eyebrow but left soon after. You couldn’t take the sight of him like that. You headed to the doctor’s office. She had a cup of coffee waiting for you and she sat you down and informed you that Clint was now partially deaf. She talked you through the purpose of the surgery and explained the parts of Clint’s ear that had been damaged. She had put milk and sugar in the coffee but it still left an acidic taste on your tongue.

“Will he recover?” you asked.

“At this point, it’s hard to say. But, according to his medical history, he suffered a similar trauma when he was a child and managed to regain full hearing. Either that’s indicative of his resilience or this has done further damage to an old wound.”

You frowned. She handed you the number for a nearby deafness resource centre.

“We’ll call you when he’s ready to be dismissed.”

The hospital wasn’t that far from work so you decided to walk. It gave you time to stop your hands from shaking. Your partner had taken care of most of the pressing matters so you checked in with your captain about your absence and cruised through the remaining hours of your shift before clocking out and heading to Clint’s building.

His apartment was a hoarder’s paradise. Numerous empty beer bottles sat in scattered groups on the floor and he had started drinking coffee straight from the pot after running out of clean mugs. The food in Lucky’s bowl had gone stale and was starting to smell. You bent down to clear it out as you eyed the tower of takeout boxes next to the garbage bin.

The hospital contacted you two days later. When you arrived at the doctor’s office, a nurse was in the middle of explaining something to Clint in sign language. He still had bandages on, still looked miserable and slouched over, staring at his cut up hands. Both doctor and nurse looked up as you entered, prompting Clint to do the same. His expression didn’t change.

“What do I do now?” you asked the doctor.

“Take him home. Let him rest. Give him time to adjust.”

You nodded slowly. That probably was all you could do, useless as it seemed. “Thank you, Doctor.”

“Take care now.”

You offered Clint your hand but he pushed it away and slid off the examination table himself. Sighing, you kept a safe distance as you led him out of the hospital. One of the nurses helped you hail a cab and you directed them to Clint’s apartment building. Traffic crawled. You half-expected Clint to just open the door and walk the rest of the way home but he somehow stayed put, watching the architecture inch by.

The car came to a stop. Before he could get out, you seized his hand. He still refused to look at you so you took his chin and turned his head yourself.

“Can you hear me?”

Reluctantly, his eyes roamed your face. “I can read your lips.” The words were softer, more tentative but also more controlled because he had to actually try now.

“Your place is disgusting,” you enunciated. He blinked. “I have to go to work but I will be back. You better clean up.”

You left without waiting for a reply, taking the cab to your precinct. After, you paid a visit to the deafness resource centre and bought a book on American Sign Language, then made a stop at the kebab place Lucky liked and bought enough dinner for two. It seemed fruitless to do so without Lucky actually being here but maybe it would bring a marginal amount of comfort.

You knocked on the door but texted as well, in case Clint hadn’t heard. You only hoped he had his phone on him.

‘It’s open,’ he replied. 

The apartment was in the same state as before. You sighed as you pushed away the clutter on the kitchen bench so you could set down your things, then you marched upstairs. The lump on the bed stirred slightly at your loud footsteps but remained where it was. You ripped off the blanket.

“You are going to help me clean up,” you said, making sure he could see you speaking.

“Not in the mood.” He tried to pull the covers out of your grip but you tightened your hold.

“I don’t care.”

The two of you stared at each other. You didn’t blink. Neither did he. Then his face hardened. “Leave me alone.”

“Clint,” you said, “I’m sorry but you need to get on with your life.”

“How can I?” he screamed. You stopped. “Everything is fucked up! My hearing is fucked! Kate took my dog. You …”

You wanted to touch him, cup his cheek, but you didn’t want to be pushed away again so you settled for perching on the end of the bed. “I never wanted to stop being your friend completely,” you murmured, looking down. Clint’s hand came into view and tugged your chin up. “Sorry. I said I never wanted to stop—”

He leaned over and pressed his lips to yours. Your eyebrows furrowed but your hand flew to the back of his neck, bringing him closer. He caressed your cheek. A tingle went down your spine. Then you remembered yourself.

“No,” you said, breaking apart. “This is exactly what I mean.”

“It’s over between me and Jess.”

You shook your head. “It doesn’t matter. We will always use each other as a crutch for something.”

“What’s wrong with that?” he said, frustrated. His words were coming out less effortlessly as his emotions took over. “That’s what you do when—”

“This is not a relationship. And you know that. You don’t even want one.”

He glared. “You don’t know—”

“You don’t want me,” you said, softer, not that it mattered. “Eventually, you’re gonna realise I’m not the solution to all your problems and you’re not gonna want me.” You weren’t sure if he made out all the words you were saying but, judging by the look on his face, he got the gist. He reached for your hand but you stood up before he could make contact with your skin. “Dinner is downstairs if you want it. Clean up this shithole, or take a fucking shower at least. I’m going home.”

You were out the door before he could see you cry.


	4. (Muffled)

You heard his bark before he came barrelling into your legs.

“What the—” You caught yourself on the lamppost as Lucky hopped up onto his hind legs and pawed at your thighs, panting excitedly. His coat was longer and shinier now, his tongue a healthy pink. Absentmindedly, you reached down to scratch behind his ear. “Where the heck did you come from?” you mumbled.

“Guess who’s back.”

You whipped around. 

Kate pushed off the brick wall with a smirk. “And that’s the last time I’m ever quoting Eminem. You’re welcome.”

“Katherine!” You lunged at her, ignoring her wince. “You didn’t tell me you were coming back.” You couldn’t help the slightly accusatory tone to your voice. Absence really did make the heart grow fonder.

“You’re familiar with the concept of surprises, right?” she said. She gave your back a pat before pulling away but you kept her at arm’s length. She wasn’t as tanned as you were expecting but there was definitely more colour to her cheeks and something else about her had changed. Maybe she had grown up.

“How was LA?”

“It’s a whole story,” she said with a wave of her hand. “Definitely needs a brunch.”

“What about drinks?” you said. “I’m actually on my way to the bar to meet Jessica right now.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Pass, but you have fun. Snapchat me if you guys end up fighting.”

You rolled your eyes. “For your information, we’ve actually gotten pretty close the weeks you’ve been away.” Lucky nudged you and you bent down to hug him. “I take it you haven’t been to Clint’s yet,” you said, nodding to the dog.

“Neither have you from what I’ve heard.” She crossed her arms. With her feet spread apart and her head tilted, you wondered if she had been practicing some heroic poses.

“Who’d you hear that from?”

“I have my sources.” 

You sighed, getting to your feet and dusting off your hands. “Look, Kate, from what the girls tell me, he’s finally got his shit together. Just proves we’re better off without each other.”

“You really think that?”

Lucky leaned against you, his tail wagging in the air. 

“I swear, all you ever wanna do is talk about Clint, Clint, Clint,” you muttered.

“Hey, you make me.”

You squinted at her. “How?”

“If you didn’t have such a thick skull, we wouldn’t be in this mess.” She patted Lucky’s head. “You stay here, boy. I’m off.”

“What?” You blinked as she began to walk down the street. “Kate, hey! I’m going to the bar!”

She just waved over her shoulder.

With a huff, you looked down at Lucky, who looked up at you, the epitome of blissful ignorance. “Fine,” you relented, “but you’re staying outside.”

You were already halfway to the bar before Kate had interrupted you. The air was warm and still but neither you nor Lucky were bothered, strolling down the sidewalk as the city serenaded you with the metal rustling of shops closing up and other partygoers laughing in the streets. People stopped you to pat Lucky, some calling him a good boy, some pouting at his injured eye. Lucky welcomed them all.

You scratched your head when you arrived at the bar. “She could have at least brought your leash,” you sighed. “Where the heck am I supposed to leave you?” You looked around, making eye contact with the bouncer in front of the door, who stared at you warily. You glanced down at Lucky again. “Stay.” 

He blinked.

You bent down to push on his tail until he was sitting down next to the fire hydrant. “Don’t move. I’ll be back in an hour.” You ducked into the bar, praying that he would just fall asleep and that Jess wouldn’t be in too crazy of a mood.

The bartender caught sight of you and greeted you with a wave, then nodded to the end of the bar where Jessica was already sat with a gin and tonic. As you made your way over, he mouthed, ‘Usual?’ and you nodded with a smile before taking the seat on Jessica’s left.

“Hey, sorry, were you waiting long?” you asked.

“Nah.” She kissed your cheek. “How are you? How was your day?”

“Same old. Actually, I bumped into Kate on my way over here.”

Jessica raised an eyebrow. “I thought she was on a road trip to find herself or something.”

“Well, I think she found herself.”

“Ah, to be young again,” she sighed longingly, making you snort.

“I know. She just dumped Lucky on me. I had to leave him outside.”

“What, right now?”

You nodded, massaging your temples. “It’s okay. He’s a good boy. He won’t go anywhere. How was your day?”

“Oh, you know—” she downed her drink—“same old.” She proceeded to show you the new bruises and scars she had added to her collection, causing the bartender to clear his throat as he arrived to hand you your glass.

“Thanks,” you said with a laugh.

You and Jessica went back and forth, trading stories of what had happened since the last time you caught up. Her next order was a strawberry daiquiri just to spice things up and, halfway through the night, a bachelorette party stopped by for their pub crawl and you were made to listen to their drunken karaoke. You actually didn’t mind, it got a good laugh out of you, but Jessica winced and stood up.

“I’m gonna bounce,” she said loudly into your ear. “You stay though.”

“No, I’ll come,” you said, polishing off your drink. “I have to check on Lucky anyway.”

She pushed you back down onto your stool. “I’ll take care of him. You stay.”

Confused and dizzy from the alcohol, you blinked as you watched her snake through the crowd. The bartender served you some water, for which you were grateful, so you stayed where you were and sipped the water as it grew later and more people flooded in, filling up all the seats next to you.

You hadn’t wanted to come here. Sure, it had become somewhat of a regular haunt for your group so you understood why Jess suggested it, but you hadn’t been here in a while and you’d planned not to return. It held too many memories. It reminded you too much of a night three years ago when you had met a car crash of a guy.

“Can I have the weirdest drink on the menu, please?”

Your spine snapped to attention and your gaze slithered across the bar top until you were looking at the man beside you. He had a hearing aid curled around his ear. When he turned to gaze at you, his eyes softened.

“Hey,” he whispered hesitantly.

You glanced away. “What are you doing here?”

“Jessica told me to be here. Plus, you forgot this.” He dropped a book on the bar between you. It was the American Sign Language guide you had left at his apartment the day you’d stormed out. You could feel his eyes on you as you stared at it, reading the words on the book cover over and over again for lack of anything better to think about. Your mind was blank. “I’m sorry I fucked up,” he went on quietly. “I’m sorry I always fuck everything up.”

Something in the way he said it made your eyes water. Alarmed, you turned your face to try to blink them away without him noticing, grinding your teeth together so they wouldn’t spill.

Clint sighed when you didn’t say anything and you heard his stool scrape across the floor. “This was a bad idea.”

“No.” You snatched his wrist. The two of you froze at the familiar yet unfamiliar touch and you looked down at where you were joined together because you couldn’t bare to look into his eyes just yet. “You didn’t fuck anything up,” you whispered, almost too soft for his hearing aid.

He was about to say something but the bartender interrupted him, brandishing a hideously purple cocktail and a slight smirk. “Enjoy,” he told Clint before sauntering off to take care of someone else. The two of you stared at the drink he had left behind, already sweating in its glass. A slice of pineapple rested on the bed of ice atop, as well as a novelty umbrella. You couldn’t help the chuckle that cracked out of you. Clint glanced at you with a bit of a smile.

“I’ll shotgun it if you tell me to.”

“You’re dumb.”

His smiled turned goofy and, in the ensuing brain freeze and regret, while the people doing karaoke screamed something about _Shrek_ and launched into a Counting Crows song, you were forced to lead him out of the bar hand-in-hand. Lucky wasn’t next to the fire hydrant so you texted Jessica as Clint held onto the streetlight and tried to moan the pain away from his head.

‘He’s at the apartment,’ she replied. ‘Have a good night.’ She ended it with an orange heart emoji, which unnerved you.

“I’m fine,” Clint announced, blinking hard and shaking his head one last time. “I’m fine now.”

“Why are you like this?” you said under your breath.

He didn’t say anything, just looked at you, blue eyes studying every inch of your face in case you were about to leave again. They flicked down when you began to walk.

“Come on,” you said, glancing at him. “I’m taking you home.”

Nothing was said during the walk to his apartment. You let yourself drown in the sounds and smells of New York and wondered, every time Clint bumped into you, whether he would just bite the bullet and hold your hand. He didn’t and you stopped in front of his door, not knowing what to do next. Maybe he was right. This was a bad idea. In the time you had spent apart, he had gotten so much better. He had gotten hearing aids, he looked less tired.

“Do you want to come in?”

He never used to ask. He never had to.

“I—”

“You should,” he said, not looking at you. “Please.”

“Because you asked nicely,” you muttered, entering before him. Lucky perked up at your footsteps and came over to greet you as you looked around the apartment. It was probably the cleanest you had ever seen it, though you still spotted the errant sock and you could tell he was still drinking his coffee straight out of the maker. At least the food in Lucky’s bowl was actual dog food. 

“You want tea?” you murmured, but you didn’t wait for him to answer.

In the time it took you to cross the floor and enter the kitchen, you had managed to scare yourself. It was like you’d had no effect on him whatsoever. It was cruel to wish he had spent the weeks without you in mess and misery—that wasn’t what you wanted—but it hurt to see that he seemed all the better for it instead.

You had turned on the kettle and were rifling through his drawers when an arm shot out to open the cupboard above you, where there was an old box of Darjeeling you had bought and kept here ages ago. He left it on the bench in front of you and you picked it up, examining it as you turned it over in your hand. You signed ‘thank you.’ It was the only one you knew.

His eyes melted as he studied you. “You’re right. I’m not your crutch and you can’t solve all of my problems,” he said, jumpstarting your pulse. You stared hard at the counter. You knew you had to talk about it eventually but that didn’t mean you were ready now. “I didn’t think it was possible but I got my shit together without you.” He touched your elbow, turning you around so you would look right at him. “And I still want you.”

Your eyes widened. “Clint—”

“So don’t tell me that what we have is screwed up. Don’t tell me the past three years have just been meaningless s—”

He stopped to catch you when you flung yourself at him. You hooked your chin over his shoulder, looking out at the apartment you used to spend so many nights in, usually after a relationship gone wrong. “I’m sorry,” you spoke into his ear. The feeling of his hands slowly falling to your hips made you shiver and he must have realised because he tightened his grip. “I’m scared.”

“Of?” he said softly.

“How much this means to me.”

He pulled away to search your eyes. “You made it look so easy to leave.”

Your heart broke at his expression. You bit your lip, then surged onto your toes and kissed him. The only thing you could hear was your blood pounding through your veins. Your eyes were squeezed shut and you weren’t even moving. He allowed it, reaching up to cradle the back of your head, slanting you to his liking. The edge of the bench dug into your skin so you blindly walked him over until you were both tripping onto the couch. To be back in this place, back on these cushions, back in his arms—you cursed yourself for ever trying to deny what had been building between you.

Clint’s lips left yours to taste the rest of you, filling your nose with that same pear scent that had you closing your eyes and giving yourself to him. 

You couldn’t remember when you fell asleep but you woke up on top of him, your face buried in his neck. You were scared to move in case it woke him but then you registered his thumb on your shoulder blade rubbing back and forth. Gingerly, you lifted your head. Clint peeled his eyes open and reached up to trace the bridge of your nose with his pointer finger. As your eyelashes fluttered from the sensation, he swiped his hearing aid off the coffee table and fixed it on.

“Morning,” he murmured. “How’d you sleep?”

“Fine. You?” Your eyes trailed to his mouth.

“I think you broke my back.”

“I think I’m in love with you.”

He faltered. When you glanced away in embarrassment, he cracked a grin and collected you more tightly in his arms. “God, I hope so.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you guys enjoyed this story! The ending might be a little too neat for Clint but, what can I say, I love my symmetry.


End file.
